


Perennial

by wisp_o_will



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Injury, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Pining, Soft Boys, Storms, bc im a rebel like that, cuddling for warmth, its mostly fluff tbh, kind of pre-relationship, snufkin has paws but no tail, sort of sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:43:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisp_o_will/pseuds/wisp_o_will
Summary: One day near the end of autumn, Moomin begs Snufkin to go on last adventure together before Snufkin leaves for the winter.Their hike through the woods ends up longer than anticipated.





	1. The Vibrancy of Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which is about the last day of autumn and plans for a picnic.

Moominhouse was filled with warmth that morning. Moominmama had settled on making the most of the berries they had picked the previous afternoon and had set about using the tart berries in every creative way she could think of.

 

Raspberry pancakes with sweet but savory cranberry sauce, honey butter and the last of the raspberry lemonade. Cranberry juice for herself and papa. For Moomin, Little My and Sniff cranberry juice was just too bitter and a tad too savory. And so for them, she prepared pear jam and special strawberry flavored treats for the larder. What was left of the cranberries went into a delicious wine for the following season.

 

When Papa asked him which out of the wonderful dishes mama had prepared were his favorite that morning, Moomin hadn’t time to think. “Whatever Little My doesn’t eat up first papa.”

 

Little My did not pause in her theft of the last strawberry pancake. For someone her size, she had a surprising reach. Moomin knew better than to say so out loud but he could think it all he wanted.

 

Little My narrowed her eyes, loading up her plate with syrup and honey butter with an air of self-satisfaction. “You should have moved faster than, Moomin. You only have yourself to blame, daydreaming all morning.”

 

Moomin sent her the customary exasperated look one gives Little My’s who get away with too much, but his thoughts were too occupied to give it much heat.

 

From the table, he could peer into the drawing room and through the doorway to the window that looked out over the verandah, to the little creek that ran past moominhouse and where Snufkin liked to camp.

 

The table was too far from the window to see the creek or Snufkin’s tent even if Moomin leaned far enough in his chair to tip it. But it was not the creek he wanted to see, it was the verandah. Whenever the weather was nice enough for it or whenever Moomin felt he could get away with it, every morning since the start of summer that year he had left the window open.

 

The idea occurred to him one day, late spring after Snufkin came to visit and sat at the chair underneath the window. Sometimes, Snufkin would prop his chin up on the sill and talk to him, or play his mouth-organ, or say nothing at all and when asked he would politely refuse to come inside. Moomin wasn’t sure how this escaped his notice until only that year, but it had.

 

Sometimes Snufkin didn’t want to come in but still seemed to want company. Because Moomin knew that if his friend didn’t want company no one in the valley could very well find him and so if Snufkin was on the verandah it usually meant he wanted to be there. Just not inside. So Moomin left the window open.

 

From the corner of the window frame, he thought he saw something green.

 

“Careful dear,”

 

Moomin jumped a little, catching himself and his chair by grabbing onto the corner of the table. “Sorry mama. I think Snufkin is here. May I finish breakfast with him?”

 

Moominmama’s eyes twinkled. “Of course dear. Invite him inside would you? Snufkin is always welcome at our table.” The invitation for Snufkin to join them for family meals was of course always there, but sometimes they liked to remind themselves, and Snufkin. It felt good to say it and just as likely felt good to hear it.

 

“Yes Mama,” Moomin jumped from his chair and nearly forgot to grab another plate in his excitement.

 

-

 

Leaning out the window found Snufkin sitting on the railing, leaning with his back resting against the house just to the right. “Snufkin!” Moomin cried, beaming. “Good morning! Mama wants to know if you would like some pancakes,”

 

“That I would,” Snufkin said pleasantly, he turned from where he had been watching the hills and smiled that soft smile of his and Moomin’s heart did a funny thing that felt like butterfly wings rattling about a jam jar.  As it often did when his best friend smiled like that. “They smell wonderful.”

 

Moomin set his plate aside and handed Snufkin his through the window.

 

For a time they ate in comfortable silence. The autumn air was cool and crisp that morning. the grassy plains of the hills now pale, waxing brown and the woodlands beyond shone with the color of a campfire. The sky above was spotted with blue-grey clouds, not yet overcast enough to block out the morning sun.

 

Snufkin didn’t say anything at all but Moomin didn’t mind. Together they enjoyed the morning air and watched the clouds drift by.

 

But eventually the quiet brought about thoughts he did not like to think about and Moomin found himself chancing a peek at Snufkin while trying his best not to be too obvious about it. His friend’s eyes were distant, thoughts somewhere Moomin couldn’t see.

 

Moomin felt his chest tighten with a familiar melancholy. Snufkin’s body language hadn’t changed, not in the familiar and obvious way moomintrolls did, and sometimes it was so hard to know what his friend wanted or needed, but Moomin knew. Because as autumn days drifted by Snufkin grew quieter as the year drew to a close.

 

It was a gradual thing. Not all at once, but easy to dismiss until it was set upon you suddenly. Like the vibrancy of autumn was gone within days of its bloom.

 

These thoughts chased the butterflies away and made his chest ache.

 

“Snufkin,” Moomin asked his friend after another moment or two, after taking their plates inside.

 

“What is it Moomin?” Snufkin’s voice was quite soft, Moomin felt, like downy feathers. He waited a moment but his friend did not turn to look at him, merely gave him a sideways glance. The rim of his hat tilted a little higher, which meant he was paying attention. So Moomin continued.  
  
  
“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”  
  
  
His friend took a breath he barely heard, a deep slow ache but too quiet to be a sigh. And still, Snufkin did not look at him. The horizon had his attention now. Or perhaps the Lonely Mountains. “Not long now. In a few days, I suppose.”  
  
  
Moomin nodded, trying his best to ignore the painful throbbing of his heart.  He couldn’t trust his own voice for a moment and he knew it hurt Snufkin just as much to see him sad. Moomin understood that the mumrik needed to leave. In the same way, the seasons change and the birds migrate. What he didn’t understand was why.  
  
  
But he wanted to understand, just a little more because if he did maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.  
  
  
Tearing his eyes away from his friend, Moomin stared into the sky. Yearning and longing and never quite sure why. “Oh please Snufkin, won't you go on one more adventure with me before you leave? It’s such a lovely day. It’s not too cold and we can have a picnic on the mountain. It’s not too far. It’ll only take us an hour or two.”  
  
  
No one said anything. Moomin about flushed to his ears. But when he dared to look, dared to see what Snufkin’s expression might be, he found the mumrik’s warm hazel eyes gazing steadily back.    
  
  
“It would be a good day for it.” Snufkin hid his eyes underneath his hat again, but Moomin caught his gentle smile. “A picnic sounds lovely, Moomin,”

 

And he couldn’t have been more relieved.

 

-

 

They made plans to leave for their adventure shortly before lunch when the weather would be slightly warmer. Snufkin disappeared from view for a few hours after Moomin had gone back inside. Once she found out about their plans for the afternoon Moominmama insisted on packing their lunch. Moomin almost told her he wanted to pack their sandwiches himself, but she had given him that look. That pleading ‘Oh, my son, I know you aren’t so small anymore but please let me just have this,’-look and Moomin caved as he always did.  
  
  
It was such a wonderful thing to have a mother like Moominmama.

 

She packed two ham and swiss sandwiches, several helpings of blueberry jam, butter and biscuits, leftover raspberries and a container of strawberry lemonade. She also had the mind to pack them a small helping of cocoa powder and milk, just in case it got chilly.

 

Noon could not arrive soon enough.  
  


Finally, finally, the grandfather clock struck noon and Moomin ran out the door to find Snufkin dutifully waiting for him on the bridge.

  
  
-

 

  
Moomin slowly saw Snufkin come alive again. Pointing out to him the shy autumn flowers and the creeps who hide under wilting ferns. He didn’t speak all at once or in long tangents. In fact, he spoke very little, but Snufkin didn’t need to speak for Moomin to enjoy his company. His eyes lit up and there was a new bounce to his step that positively infectious.

 

Snufkin tugged him along and at first, they walked, then they jogged until quite suddenly Moomin found himself darting between trees and thickets with an arm full of crackling leaves, dodging clouds of the stuff and laughing so hard his chest ached.  
  
  
Leaves were difficult things to throw, not at all like snowballs or water balloons which could hit one quite quickly but somehow that made it all the more fun. Moomin had to get really close to cover him but that also gave Snufkin the same opportunity.  
  
  
With how laid back he was, sometimes Moomin forgot how fast Mumriks were. (Though he only knew the one.) Snufkin’s feet were as quick as his tongue and all this had Moomin gasping with both fear and joy whenever his friend came at him.  
  
  
They stumbled over roots and logs until they were out of breath and fell into another heap gasping and giggling all the merrier.  
  
  
Laughter turned to shared smiles and Moomin marveled at how amazing his friend was. How soft his smile, how warm his eyes and how boisterous someone as quiet Snufkin could get when they were happy. _How lucky am I,_  Moomin thought to himself, _How lucky am I to spend time with him when he spends so little time with anyone._

 

They pick themselves up from the bed of leaves and dusted themselves off. Moomin plucked a leaf out of Snufkin’s hair. With a bright smile, Snufkin retrieved his hat.  
  
  
With that burst of energy out of their systems, they resumed their hike at a leisurely pace. Moomin spoke softly and did his best to enjoy the silence when it seemed Snufkin wanted peace. The company they kept was easy and Moomin nearly forgot the reason why he so urgently wanted Snufkin to take him out on an adventure in the first place.

 

He was reminded sooner than he would have liked.

 

-

 

  
“Have you crossed many mountains Snufkin?”  A dense woodland crowded this side of the mountain, indistinguishable from the forests which surrounded Moominvalley were not for the large stone which jetted out of the earth. They were slick, covered with moss and grew more frequent as the slope grew steeper.

  
Snufkin hummed. “A few here and there, though none quite compare to the Lonely Mountains,”  
  
  
Moomin shifted the picnic basket from one arm to the other. They had only been hiking for a little under an hour now but already he was starting to feel the burn in his legs. His best friend wasn’t having any trouble, Moomin noted with envy, but that was to be expected from someone who spent half the year walking vast distances. Sometimes it was hard to imagine just how big the world truly was.  
  
  
“Won’t you tell me one of your stories, Snufkin? I don’t think I’ve heard one for a while.”

  
  
“Let me think for a moment,” Snufkin said, his voice softened, contemplative.

 

Moomin waited patiently, eager and ears perked. Snufkin would speak again when he felt ready. He couldn’t be rushed. Moomin knew this from experience but all the same, it was hard to contain his excitement. Snufkin’s stories were always a treat.

 

A few more minutes passed, the forest path climbed higher, over stone and moss until it gradually leveled out again. Leaves crunched underfoot.

 

When the tree line broke, bathing them in sunlight, Snufkin spoke again.

 

“Many years ago, before I met you I found myself crossing through a beautiful stretch of land, untamed and surrounded on all sides by white caps. I was admiring the flowers when I came across a little creep caught in a snare. It was such a nasty thing, that snare, I cut my fingers at least four times untying the noose.

  
  
When freed, the creep trembled so violently they couldn’t stand. So I took them in my coat, thinking they could use a good rest. We were not quite so lucky.” Snufkin paused, his gaze set straight ahead, purposely.

  
  
He took his pipe out of his pocket. He didn’t lit it. Only set the end between his teeth, a habit Moomin noted that had only started that year. He wasn’t quite sure why, Snufkin would never tell him, but he suspected his friend just liked the weight of it.

 

Moomin just about died waiting for him to continue. “Well? What happened?”

 

Snufkin might have smirked that. He continued. “What I didn’t realize at the time- the very same hunter who had set that snare had seen me release his quarry.”  
  
  
Moomin covered his snout with both paws.  
  
  
Snufkin grinned. “As you can imagine he was quite cross. He said terrible things, I couldn’t stand a moment of it. Let alone subject the poor creep to such awful words. Who was still in my coat mind, trembling so hard I shook with them. So I fled. Enraged, the hunter followed. He followed me for so long and far I dared not stop for even a night.”

  
  
“How dreadful!”

  
  
“Hush now, don’t interrupt. I’m not sure how I managed it myself. In my haste to flee the foul beast, I lost track of where I was going and found myself crossing a glacier. The light from the sun shone upon on it like a thousand mirrors. Fissures ran for miles down and cross, but the wind whispered terrible things as I came near that I was quick to keep my distance.  
  
  
“But the snow did me a great favor. Now see, the hunter was not used to stalking in snow. He had grown content in that little patch of woodland. He claimed it as his own, and he never left because he thought it was all he could ever need. But I had been to so many places, you see, that I adapted easily. Now, you remember what I said about that ice? How bright it was? Well, I must admit that it might very well have saved my life.”

  
  
His heart could have dropped like a stone at that. In fact, it would have, if Snufkin hadn’t been here reciting the tale to him. Alive in the flesh and obviously not dead. He dared not utter a single breath as the mumrik continued.

  
  
“I think he had just about enough of me by then. He brandished his rifle. He took aim. But at just that moment, the clouds parted and the sun shone so bright he could not get a fix on me. Awful thing that was. Gave me a terrible fright. I took advantage of his lapse in concentration to slip down an icy ravine and I have not seen or heard a lick of him since.”

  
  
Snufkin said these last words with such pride that Moomin had to smile. “Bless my tail, Snufkin! That was some adventure. So kind of you to take that creep all that way too! Why, heroic even!”

  
  
Snufkin’s face flushed a lovely shade of pink. The mumrik looked away quickly, pulling down the brim of his hat to cover his eyes and ears. “Oh, you mustn’t say so Moomin. It was exhausting, actually. Absolutely miserable.”

  
  
Still, Moomin was proud of his friend. He glowed with admiration and he quite proudly said so.

  
  
They fell into silence then as Snufkin took a moment to rest his voice, still gnawing at the end of his pipe. While Moomin proceeded all his friend had told him.

 

Snufkin may distant, quiet and even frighteningly clever but he was so very kind too. Moomin’s heart swelled with emotion he could not name or express.

  
  
Snufkin’s experiences had saved him from the hunter. Had he known less, traveled to fewer places and seen fewer things, who could say what would have happened?

  
  
But at some point, Snufkin had been new to the world too. At some point, a long long time ago, the mumrik had made a decision and stepped out into this incredible and vast world he knew nothing about. And Moomin thought that was just about the bravest thing his friend had ever done.

 

“What happened to the creep?” He asked eventually after enough silence had passed to feel comfortable. His throat felt constricted and tight.

  
“After I came down the other side of the mountain they felt much better. We parted ways after that.”

“Have you met him since?” Moomin wondered.  
  
  
Snufkin shook his head. “I have not traveled that way in many years. I’m sure he’s done very well for himself.” The mumrik’s voice started to trail off, a sign he wanted to take a break but Moomin had just one more, urgent question.

  
  
“Do you ever regret it Snufkin? Your adventures I mean. Sometimes they seem quite perilous, exciting but terrible.”

  
  
“Oh, not at all,” Snufkin said fondly. Looking for all the world as though they were talking about the flowers or Moominmama’s lovingly crafted stews, and not a particular situation that could have resulted in his premature death.

Moomin opened his mouth to say something else but Snufkin stopped him. “Let us be quiet now. I would like to think. Listen to the forest with me and we can think up a tune for our picnic together.”  
  
Moomin tried to set aside his worries, this was the last adventure he would have with Snufkin until next spring. But still, his heart could not be settled.

 

-  
  


Moomin could not stop thinking about winter. He thought about thick sheets of white. He thought about Snufkin in that dreadful cold. He thought about Too-Tiki, the wolves and the groke and all the winter meant to him and the residents of Moominvalley. They were persistent, aggravating thoughts and did nothing for his mood.

 

Noticing the downward spiral his friend was quickly tumbling towards, Snufkin distracted him with a hunt for mushrooms. Moomin eagerly agreed and they started their search.

 

It took some time away from their picnic but neither Moomin or Snufkin minded. They said hello to the creeps they met (Snufkin more quickly, friendly as he always was, yet in the kind of way that told someone he didn’t want to stay and chat) and found a merry bunch of squirrels, the budding sprouts of winter flowers and many more plants and animals who were making the most of the season. After a time they were forced to stop to rest.

  
  
Despite their findings, Moomin was not satisfied. If anything he felt anxious. And as Snufkin played a soft lovely tune on his harmonica all Moomin could think about was the mumrik’s lack of long fur.

 

He didn’t have fur like a moomintroll (which was soft and downy and only got more so the later the season), or a hemulan or fillyjonk both of whom had adequate amounts of fluff. Snufkin didn’t have a wide fluffy tail like a squirrel or the bulk of a bear. He was built like a mymble and mymbles covered themselves with many layers. All year long at that, to keep warm. Or so Moomin presumed. He had never met a mymble who wore less than four articles.

  
  
And then there was Snufkin, who left after the first snow, who never took his hat or scarf off even in the blazing heat of summer- oh, however did the mumrik ever manage to survive the bitter cold? Wouldn’t it be better if he could hibernate like a moomintroll?

  
  
The music stopped and Moomin nearly jumped as Snufkin rarely interrupted his own song. “Oh, Moomin, don’t treat your tail like that. It hasn’t done anything to you,”

  
  
Oh dear. Moomin let go of his tail, embarrassed. “Snufkin, how do you stay warm in winter?”

  
  
“Odd thing to ask. Usually, I travel ahead of the cold so I don’t have to deal with it. I have my tent and myself and that is all I need.”

  
  
Moomin fretted. “Yes, but surely you must get cold in only that.”  
  


Snufkin admitted were times he did get cold even with his coat, scarf, and hat, and said so candidly, heedless of the way Moomin’s heart seized. “I have to keep moving,” the mumrik told him. “If I must, I will make camp but winter lingers for a long time outside moominvalley. I mustn’t make the mistake of standing still or I’ll surely be frozen in place.”  
  


“Winter is truly dreadful isn’t it?” Moomin murmured.

  
  
“Oh, not at all.”

 

Moomin shot Snufkin a look of surprise. “You must hate it, surely. The world is left so bare and colorless, the birds don’t sing and the sun does not rise. You don’t have a winter pelt to grow into and oh Snufkin, the cold is dangerous for you isn’t it?”

 

The sky so dark and moominvalley a monochrome of white and grey. Moomin sometimes woke up mid-winter, sometimes earlier, sometimes later, but always he felt the same way about it. Frustrated, anxious absolutely wretched. _It’s natural for you to feel anxious,_  his mother told him once when she too had woken up mid-winter one year. _Winter is harsh my love. These feelings belong to our ancestors warning us to take care._

 __  
  
Snufkin shook his head. “It’s true I don’t like the cold. It’s the only time of year that is difficult to live through,” and then more softly, “but I don’t hate winter, Moomin,”

  
  
Moomin opened his mouth then, to further protest but he stopped. The words caught in his throat at what he almost said. Snufkin didn’t have that soft contented look anymore. He wasn’t smiling. His mouth was drawn in a thin line, a line that caused Moomin’s gut to wrench with guilt. Impulsively, he had said something he shouldn't have and nearly made it worse by saying more.  
  
  
Of course, Snufkin didn’t hate winter. It was the time of year Snufkin took for himself, to travel the world and experience new things. How cruel of him to say winter was something to be hated- oh by the boogle, why had he said that?

 

Because it wasn’t really about winter was it? They both knew it. Snufkin’s eyes hardened, the warmth sapped out of them until all that was left was a greying fossified resin. Moomin’s heart plummeted.  
  
  
“Snufkin I-”

  
  
“It’s alright Moomin,”

  
  
Moomin clamped his mouth shut, silenced by a single sharp note. It clearly wasn’t alright but the mumrik pulled the rim of his hat down, further over his eyes leaving only the tight line of his mouth visible to him. It wasn’t the time to apologize. Moomin’s ears folded.

  
  
Wordlessly they continued their hike. Above the mountain peak, the sky rumbled.


	2. You must hate winter, surely?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which is about the storm and the autumn chill.

 

As if in reflection of the turmoil waring between heart and throat, the sky overhead grew dark with angry grey plumes. All the world caste in a colorless spectrum but Snufkin could not enjoy it, as usually he would an encroaching storm. _You must hate winter, surely?  
_ _  
_ _  
_ Snufkin shook his head, unclenching his teeth. He pulled himself over another flagstone, mindful of the moss and lichen which made the surface slightly dubious to grapple with. Moomin padded up the hill just behind him, a foot or two below. The land here was very steep and there was little space for them to walk side by side. Underneath the brim of his hat, the mumrik’s eyes followed him.

  
  
Little blue flowers, buds as small as a thumbnail, popped up between stones of all sizes. Their roots were thin and sparse but they clung to stone and silt alike with a vicious grip. Stubborn in their insistence to remain where they were. Snufkin had no name for these flowers, they only grew on the mountain slopes that faced inward to moominvalley. They came back year after year, amnesic to the fact they would only wither away again.

  
  
Their leaves not fully wilted, shriveled but not yet grey. Privately, Snufkin could relate to how they curled in on themselves. He wished he could join them. He felt ill.  
  
“Moomin,”  
  
  
Moomin looked up, ears flicking towards him and instantly attentive. Still, there was an unsteadiness to his eyes and Snufkin looked away quickly. He drew attention to the flowers down by his heel and Moomin crawled up the slope to peer at the tiny, tragically beautiful things.

  
  
His friend commented on how beautiful the flowers were. Snufkin didn’t feel like talking.

  
  
Snufkin drew himself up over another large stone to give his friend more room and not because his proximity made his skin prickle, goosebumps like fine needles crawling up and down his arm. He considered pulling out his harmonica. If only to have the familiar weight in his palm. Perhaps he would feel less like sinking into the earth than or tearing his own hair out but a sudden gust interrupted that line of thought.

 

Reflexively, the mumrik’s paw shot up to catch hold of the rim of his hat. The wind rippled over the mountain slope and turned every blade of grass white with it. It rippled through Moomin’s fur, causing the troll to squeeze his eyes shut and his brow to wrinkle.

 

Snufkin thought he could taste something sharp and uninviting in the air.

 

Above them, above the mountain peak, the grey sky rumbled. Thick swaths of grey giants tumbled over themselves, blotting out the sun completely. A familiar thrill lit up his heart at the sight of the storm.

  
  
The sky crackled and Moomin jumped, downy fur bristling. “Is it going to rain?” He asked. He had yet to tear his trembling blue eyes from the heavens.

  
  
Snufkin knew it would. “We need to find shelter.”

  
  
The trouble was they were already too far from the mountain’s base to backtrack but not yet high enough to reach the summit. Snufkin’s stomach churned unpleasantly. He knew they would not make it before the storm broke.

  
  
He led the way up the slope, attention torn between ensuring Moomin followed closely behind and the path that lay ahead of them.

 

Over the years they had scaled many hills and treacherous terrain together, moomintrolls were excellent swimmers and tenacious creatures on any adventure but not quite so good at maintaining their center of balance. Moomin struggled to find a sturdy foothold on the steeper slope whos stones were placed more closely together, loose dirt and slit trapped between them. Where Snufkin found his balance easily. He did not think of himself as a natural climber but years of wandering had made it a useful skill.

  
Snufkin paused, struck by an odd sensation, paws, and boots wedged between solid stone.

 

The first droplet landed on his nose with a frosty breath. Moomin froze too, steps below as another struck him between the eyes.

  
  
Then the rain came down in an icy sheet. Within moments they were soaked through and the stone beneath their paws treacherous.

  
  
Moomin met his eyes with trembling blue, they both knew how much danger they were in now. If they didn’t reach the top very carefully, or very quickly, they could well be caught in a landslide caused by their own movements.

  
  
“What are we going to do Snufkin?” Moomin cried, nearly a shout to be heard over the pounding rain.

  
  
“Just a moment,” Snufkin’s thoughts raced. There was a lump lodged in his throat and the rare ounce of fear on his tongue. Frantically he scanned the mountainside. The rain and water made it difficult to see, turning everything white and foggy. He blinked rapidly, shuttering away the water in his eyes.

 

Above them, lightning streaked across the sky and cast harsh shadows down the mountain.

  
  
“Snufkin!” Moomin’s voice broke, panic swelling.

  
  
There! A crevice in the rock face. The slope was no more treacherous than the path to the summit but it was closer. It wouldn’t take them long if they were careful. “This way Moomin!”

  
  
The path they followed grew narrow, glossy with mud and forced them to alternative between climbing as they normally would and on all fours. The rain came down so heavily Snufkin felt he might drown on the air alone.

 

The ground beneath pooled with water, grey silt streamed down the slope in ribbons. A wet thud, Snufkin’s heart dropped like a stone. He turned, a lerch of a movement, just in time to watch Moomin stumble, backward, one foot caught awkwardly between two jagged rocks as he fell.  
  
Snufkin dove for him.

 

He landed hard on his stomach, fingers snapping tight around Moomin’s paw. Moomin gasped, a pained wheezed his blue eyes gone white with terror. Snufkin grabbed his paws with both of his, feeling slick fur slip out from under his fingers and pulled. He was deaf to sound for an eternity, blind to all but the pouring rain, Moomin’s bright eyes and scrambling paws. Slit and ice. Mud and stone. Teeth so tightly clenched they might buckle.

  
  
Ignorant of the burn in his limbs, nearly slipping himself until Moomin collapsed next to him. He latched onto the troll’s arm and didn’t let go until they reached the cave.

  
  
The moment they safely over the ledge and out of immediate harm's way, the mumrik crawled over to where Moomin lay, shivering quite badly. “Moomin,”  he called hoarsely, resting a tenetaive paw on his friends shoulder. His teeth chattered. The troll’s soft white fur was utterly drenched and the floor beneath them would soon be doing it’s best impression of a small pond. “Moomin, are you alright?”

  
  
“I-I think so,” Moomin lifted his snout, he was still catching his breath and shuddering as he did. He looked considerably smaller with all the fluff of his coat plastered to his skin.

  
  
They both turned to look at Moomin’s poor ankle. Moomin looked away immediately, a fresh well of tears sprang to his eyes. “Oh - maybe I’m not so alright.” It was a little too dark for him to see very well, but he could see enough.

  
  
His mouth felt chalky and dry. “Let’s get you away from the ledge and I’ll take a look at it. Can you move?”

 

“I‘ll try,”

 

It took a bit of time and creative maneuvering, but they managed to find a comfortable position for Moomin to sit up in. Further into the cave it was just a bit warmer. Every time Moomin bumped his ankle he cried out, his grip on Snufkin’s sleeve seemed to be about the only thing keeping him from bursting into tears.

  
  
After some coaxing, Snufkin pulled away from him just enough to take a look at his ankle. His eyes had adjusted to the low light and he could see clearly. The muscles around the ankle were swollen and the angle of the joint did not look quite right. Snufkin found no blood, but when he carefully smoothed Moomin’s white fur back to take a better look at the skin underneath, Moomin flinched violently. Snufkin murmured an apology, he kept his touch feather light after that- the skin underneath was uneven in color, blotchy and blue.  
  
  
Moomin had been lucky. Snufkin felt very cold.

  
“It- it really hurts Snufkin,” Moomin hiccuped.  
  
  
Snufkin reached out and took his paw. Moomin squeezed back so tightly he lost feeling in his fingertips. “I know it does Moomin but you must bear it for only a little while longer. Oh, please don’t cry.”

 

He took both Moomin’s paws in his now and held them there. Snufkin shivered from the cold he was sure. Clasped together, both their paws shook with him. Moomin’s breathing evened out slowly, he sucked in another breath, the tears slowed. Snufkin stuttered through his chattering teeth. “You’ll be alright Moomin, I promise.”  
  
  
Moomin nodded with another shaky breath.

 

With his friend calm again, Snufkin turned his attention to the picnic basket. It was the only thing they had brought with them. Somehow it had survived the scramble through the storm. Privately Snufkin cursed himself for not taking his camping equipment, he would have been more prepared for something like if he had, but that didn’t matter now. He had to make due with what they had on hand. Moomin’s ankle needed a splint.

 

Much of the basket’s contents were soaked through. Their sandwiches were ruined and so was the can of cocoa powder, the biscuits transfigured back into raw dough, thoroughly waterlogged. The picnic blanket was drenched too so Snufkin set that aside, along with his hat and coat to dry, anticipating they may need it for warmth if they could not make back before nightfall. But the raspberries were fine and the strawberry lemonade had not spilled so they would have breakfast in the morning if it came to that.  
  
  
He found the blueberry jam and passed it over to Moomin who puzzled over it. His paws were still quivering. “Snufkin?”  
  
  
“A lesser known fact about blueberries,” Snufkin said encouragingly. “They have wonderful medicinal properties. It will ease the pain and swelling somewhat.”   

 

Moomin nodded. He seemed a little reluctant to eat jam with his bare paws but Snufkin could not find the butter knives and the napkins were mush so he would have to make due. At the very least it offered a decent distraction. Moomin finished off the jam by the time Snufkin had laid everything out in the cave to dry. He held the basket in his paws, doing his best to ignore how numb they felt, and thought about what he might have to do with it.  
  
  
“How are you feeling?” He asked, sliding his paw down the handle of the basket where the joint was.  
  
  
“A little better,” Moomin sounded more sure of himself, not quite confident but getting there. “What are you doing with the basket?”  
  
  
“Oh,” said Snufkin, hesitating, because he knew his friend would not like it. “Well, we need a splint for your leg, Moomin.”  
  
  
Moomin sucked in a breath. “But that’s mama’s favorite picnic basket!”  
  
  
“Yes, but I think your leg is more important. She’ll understand.”  
  
  
“I supposed,” Moomin deflated. Still, he closed his eyes when Snufkin warned him seconds before handles of the basket were ruthlessly snapped off.  
  
  
Moomin was quiet as he worked on the split, he used his scarf, a substitute in place of bandages. Moomin looked stricken to see it used that way, but Snufkin felt no such guilt. It was just an article of clothing to him. Granted, one he had for a long time. But he meant what he had said.  
  
  
With the splint done, Snufkin thought to make a small fire out of the basket but found it too wet and reluctantly set aside that idea for later. He pulled his legs up to his chest instead, resting his chin on one knee.

  
  
“Snufkin?” Moomin’s voice came quietly, timid. Rattled with guilt and shame.  
  
  
Snufkin sucked in a breath, then held it. “Yes Moomin?” He couldn’t meet his friend’s gaze right now. Instead, the floor urgently called his attention. With all its grooves and tiny cracks, smoothed by erosion. Surely, many creatures had sought shelter here before. Silt could be soft when it was dry, now it was only unpleasantly sticky.

  
  
Outside the storm continued it’s deluge. Distantly, something cold trickled down from the ceiling in a slow, but steady drip-

  
  
A breath. “Snufkin, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.  I-I don’t know what came over me. Or why I said that. But it hurt you. _I_ hurt you. I should have never projected onto you like that. Winter is the time of year you take for yourself, its-” Moomin paused here. His eyes slowly widened.

  
  
Snufkin peered at him from over the crook of his arm, catching the light of the storm shining in Moomin’s watery eyes. Saw his thoughts turn and click together like the missing gears of a great clock.

 

Moomin swallowed thickly and started again but with more confidence this time. “When you leave for the winter you’re not behaving selfishly. You would never hurt someone intentionally, even the Park Keeper, your greatest enemy.” Another breath and Moomin met his eyes, there was pain there and for a moment Snufkin felt understood. “When you leave, it's always to take care of yourself. And you should never, ever feel guilty for that.”

  
  
“I want to make it up to you-” Moomin said with enough sincerity to pour over the mountain ten times over. “Whatever I can do-”  
  
  
_Oh Moomin_ . Snufkin blinked, surprised to find his vision blurry. He swiped a palm under his eyes to dry them and both his hand and cheek felt warm to the touch. He reached over and Moomin fell silent, not daring to move or breath as Snufkin found his paw and intertwined his fingers with his own.  
  
  
“You can rest that ankle of yours, Moomin.” He said this softly, meaningfully and hopped Moomin would understand. Snufkin curled his fingers around Moomin’s then relaxed his hold.

  
  
“To be honest I'd forgotten all about it. They were only words. I know you didn’t mean them.” Words he couldn’t say flooded his throat, emotion he dared not name as Moomin’s frightened expression flashed through his mind again. White paws slipping out of his like sand between his fingers.

  
  
“I shouldn’t have said them anyway,” Moomin squeezed back with some reverence. “Do you forgive me Snufkin?”  
  
  
“Of course,” Snufkin smiled. He felt lighter as his friend smile back. He looked down after a moment, fingers grasping air. His hat was still drying in the corner. Of course. “Oh, what silly creatures we are!”  
  
  
Moomin nodded in agreement. “Our picnic might as well be soup and we are down one basket. Maybe it wasn’t such a good day for an adventure after all.”  
  
  
Unwillingly, Snufkin found himself looking back at Moomin’s ankle. The splint was still there of course. “The sky _had_ felt rather cross this morning.”  
  
  
Moomin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You knew it was going to rain. Why didn’t you say anything, Snuf?”  
  
  
With nothing but air to grab onto, Snufkin reached for a strand hair instead, then found something better and pressed his cheek into his palm so that his eyes were hidden. “You were so excited Moomin, I didn’t have the heart to tell you. But I didn’t think it would get so bad.”  
  
  
“Oh.” _  
  
_

They both processed this for a moment.  
  
  
“Snuf, I think I owe you another apology.”  
  
  
“Nonsense. You’ve apologized enough.”  
_  
_ _  
_ “No, I really feel I must,”  Moomin insisted. And in the same way, Snufkin hid his face, Moomin started to fidget with his tail once more. “I asked to come with you because I felt bad. And I mean, I did genuinely want to spend time with you, for company’s sake. I always do. But I was just so miserable I didn’t think.” And then the next words he spoke came out in a hurry with eyes squeezed shut. “I think I was unsatisfied with the reasons you gave, why you travel south I mean. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know why.”  
  
  
Snufkin was quiet for a moment, and then he said slowly. “Oh you silly, silly thing. Why didn’t you ask me directly?”  
  
  
Moomin blushed. “I don’t know! I think it felt wrong to ask.”  
  
  
“Moomin, I really do just need to be alone. Well, to experience the world too of course, but it really is that simple.“  
  
  
“Oh, I feel so foolish!” Moomin cried, threw both paws over his eyes as if they could somehow hide his reddening face from present company. The blush spread from snout to ear and could very well turn the rest of him red as a snork.

  
  
Despite himself, Snufkin laughed. A short burst of air that did not last long but it thoroughly captured Moomin’s attention anyway. Whose ears twitched and grew all the more flustered.  
  
  
After much nonsensical noise and fuss, Snufkin hushed his friend. “Words cannot accurately describe it, so I’ll play for you,” the mumrik leaned over, he crawled the short distance to his coat and retrieved his harmonica. “Yes, I hear her now. The melody is always with me, you see.” and than Snufkin began to play.

  
  
The tune started off a gentle timbre. It always took some time for him to get fully immersed in the melody and so to him it felt a bit shaky to start. It was a feeling he found as often as he missed it but never before had he coaxed it to an instrument. Snufkin allowed his eyes to flutter closed, his thoughts to drift and his heart to settle. He thought of the soothing ocean breeze, the salt on his tongue and the spray on his cheek. He thought of the dappled light of summer, the dance of leaves in a summer storm and the rolling tones of thunder.  
  
  
He thought of a garden in spring, overgrown with dandelions and clover. He thought of downy white, a dove in flight and the kindest blue eyes one ever did see. The melody took a life of its own. It gave his heart wings, and Snufkin forgot, for a time, the cold and the rain.

  
  
When finally the song reached its conclusion, he opened his eyes with a contented sigh.  
  
  
He found Moomin watching him still, utterly bewitched by the afterglow of the melody.  
  
  
“You really do love the world, don’t you Snufkin.” Moomin said breathlessly.  
  
  
“I do,” Snufkin said, gazing into Moomin’s eyes. He grinned. “I really do.”

  
-

  
  
Snufkin drew both knees up to his chest. He sorely missed the warmth of his coat and hat, both articles would take a while to dry yet. His paws trembled, though not quite as often, he held them tight in hopes the shivers would stop.

 

Quiet had settled between them and Snufkin was content to let it be. Moomin sensed his mood, but every now and then he would shiver and Moomin would get that look of someone who wanted to say something but was too anxious to say it. Moomin shifted restlessly.  
  
  
“Snufkin?”  
  
  
Snufkin peered out from where he had hidden his face in the crook of his arm. Moomin fidgeted with his tail. “I think - I think my fur is quite dry now,” This was said softly, one part hesitant, two parts concern. A gentle request.

  
  
Snufkin understood but he couldn’t bring himself to move for another minute or two. He did not like close proximity and he did not particularly like physical contact. Partially because he didn’t know what to do with it but largely due to reasons he could not explain or define. But he was cold, his paws were numb, and Moomin did look over soft.

  
  
Moomin, the single creature he trusted more than anything in the world.

  
  
Snufkin took a breath, let it out through his mouth in a heavy exhale and said in a quiet murmur, “Don’t move, Moomin.”  
  
  
Moomin nodded patiently and held very still. Posed as one does when approached by a feral animal.

 

Snufkin leaned his shoulder against him first then his head, feeling Moomin’s fur brush his cheek and closed his eyes. A shudder ran down his spine and goosebumps crawled over his skin wherever contact was made but Moomin’s fur was so very soft. Warm, and just dry enough to be considered so. Snufkin hadn’t realized how cold he had been until then. Moomin felt almost feverish to the touch.  
  
  
“May I?” Moomin asked. Snufkin nodded. Moomin shifted to lay on his side, careful not to justle his leg. He moved very slowly, so every action could be seen before he made it. This was not strictly necessary, as Snufkin knew in his heart he could never trust anyone more. But sometimes Moomin knew him better than he knew himself.  
  
  
With Snufkin tucked under his chin, Moomin sighed contentedly. Snufkin relaxed into his warmth and quickly drifted off to sleep.    


 

-

 

“I wish it would stop raining,”  
  
  
Snufkin peeled open one eye, blinking groggy-eyed at his friend. Moomin watched the rain, which had quieted somewhat. It was darker now and the thunder a distant rumble.

  
  
Snufkin let out an exasperated breath and closed his eyes but it was too late, he was beginning to feel restless again and sleep would surely not return to him.

  
  
Moomin fidgeted. Unable to keep still, as moomins were wont to do and with each passing adjustment Snufkin felt a familiar tension crawl up his spine like ants under his skin.

 

Moomin meanwhile continued to babble on, as much talking to Snufkin as he was himself. Moomin, as he knew him, could not keep quiet for long. “Do you think it will flood again, Snufkin?”

  
  
Reluctantly the mumrik lifted his head from the warmth, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He thought for a long time, watching the grey water pour down, trickling over stone and from above the cave’s maw. A rhythmic dance to the pluck of nature’s instrument. “No. I don’t think it will, Moomin.” Quietly he reached for his hat and coat, putting a more comfortable distance between himself and his friend.

  
  
“Do you think we’ll be here all night?”

  
  
“It does seem that way.”  
  
  
True to his word, the rain did stop until long after the sundown.  
  
  
The damp air made it impossible to get completely dry. To the moisture, the cold clung on with a vicious grip. Moomin eventually grew tired of talking and fell into a contemplative quiet. Quite unlike him but he was very tired. Privately, Snufkin thought his friend needed the rest. A sprained ankle was a serious thing.

  
  
Occasionally Moomin shivered, and Snufkin made an effort to stay close enough to share body heat. Internally battling with his desire for space and the knowledge that keeping each other warm was vital.

  
  
Moomin drifted in and out of sleep throughout the night. Even with the slightly damp picnic blanket, it was difficult to keep warm and he would wake up with chattery teeth and numb paws. Snufkin did no better but there nothing else to do but wait out the night.     

 

* * *

 

The sun shone on a frost dusted landscape the next morning. No bird sang, and it seemed that all sound had been blotted out by swaths of cotton. Moomin marveled at the clouds that rose from his breath. He tugged the picnic blanket tighter around himself and Snufkin as they finished off the berries and chewed on frozen lemonade.

  
  
To retrieve said frozen treat, Snufkin genially smashed the container, as the lid had been frozen shut. So now Moominmama was not only down one picnic basket, she was down one pitcher too. They were sure she wouldn’t mind, terribly.

 

Needless to say, it was not a filling breakfast. The basket had been burned up in the middle of the night when the temperature had been at its lowest. They had nothing to burn, nothing more to eat and in the end, made the unanimous decision to climb down the mountain as soon as they could.

  
  
Snufkin offered his shoulder as a crutch all the way down the mountain.

  
  
They found Moominmama and Papa waiting for them on the bridge. Moominmama kissed his snout, each cheek and ear and held her son so tenderly. Moomin apologized for the state of the basket, the remains of which now wrapped around his ankle but Mama would not hear a word of it. She ushered them both inside instead, while Moominpapa offered his supportive in typical subdued but dignified fashion.

  
  
A delightful pot roast was had by all that same evening. Potatoes, onions, and carrots sautéed to perfection. It was enough to warm the soul. Little My and Sniff joined them naturally. Little My peppered Snufkin and Moomin with questions while Sniff shivered with fright over the harrowing tale. Sometime between the second and third time Moominpapa expressed his gratitude, Snufkin disappeared from the dining table. He could not be found for the rest of the evening, much to Little My’s frustration.

  
  
After supper, Moominmama set up Moomin’s bed so his foot could be propped up, fitted with a new brace. Moomin settled under the covers. He thought of winter and snow. A melody unlike any other and warm hazel eyes that heralded the arrival of spring.  
  
  


-

  
  
A light rapping on the window pane woke him up.

  
  
Moomin propped himself up on his elbows. He couldn’t reach the window latch from his bed as that would justle his leg too much nor could he see who it was, as night had fallen again. So he called out and politely told whoever it was they could come in, but only if they were someone he knew.

  
  
To Moomin’s greatest hope, it was Snufkin who climbed in through the window.

  
  
The mumrik closed the window behind him, smiling that lazy, gentle smile of his and it sent Moomin’s chest aflutter all over again. “How are you feeling Moomin?”

  
  
“Oh, much better thank you!” He couldn’t be happier now that Snufkin was here. Even so late at night. And it showed in his eyes and his smile and the quiet way his tail lashed about underneath the covers.

  
  
Snufkin settled on the edge of the bed without a word, one leg crossed over the other paws folded politely. After that evening and all the fuss his parents and Little My gave him, Moomin couldn’t say he minded at all.

  
  
With his friend by his side, Moomin felt at peace. The wind whispered through the window pane and the air even inside the house was a bit nippy but underneath blankets and sheets, he felt safe. There was no better feeling in the world. Moomin felt his eyes dropped.

  
  
“Will you be leaving tomorrow Snufkin?” He yawned. Blinking away sleep from his eyes only to have it settle over him again in a hazy fog.

  
“Bright and early,” Snufkin confirmed. Things were just as they were meant to be. Some part of Moomin had worried that the little tift he had with him on the mountain would carry on. That it would cling to his fur and Snufkin’s coat like a burr. But these thoughts were finally settled to rest now. Snufkin carried himself in a calm, contented way. Eyes as warm as the summer sun. A slow blink, fond, and Moomin knew everything would be alright.

  
  
Snufkin tapped his harmonica twice between his paws. “Would you like a song dear Moomin?”

  
  
Too far gone to properly process this, Moomin only managed to murmur, “That’d be great Snufkin. I love your music.”

  
  
Snufkin brought the harmonic to his lips and played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
